


Misery Needs Company

by funnylookinfella



Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Past Wrench/Numbers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 04:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11775807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funnylookinfella/pseuds/funnylookinfella
Summary: Nikki learns just how much she and Wrench have in common.





	Misery Needs Company

It was Nikki who grew tired of their lack of communication first, letting their room door fly closed behind her and dumping the Walmart bag on Wrench’s bed, startling him when he hadn’t seen her come in. 

He gave her a quizzical look. She gestured toward the bag, encouraging him to open it. Inside the plastic sack were two white boards, the size of an ordinary notebook, and a matching pair of markers, black for Wrench and red for Nikki. Understanding dawned on his face, and he unwrapped one of the boards from its plastic wrap and scribbled on it with the marker. 

“Good idea.” 

She gave a curt nod and went to take her shoes off, plopping down on the edge of her bed. They’d established rather early on in their time together that she need not worry about undressing in front of him, since he had little to no interest in women, and Nikki, very comfortable with herself, was only too happy to indulge in the privilege. She shrugged off her coat, pulled her blouse over her head, and tugged her pants over her hips, going to slump down in her bra and underwear. She heard the squeak of Wrench writing on the board again, and turned her head when it stopped. 

“You OK?” 

She nodded, reaching a hand out. He took the other white board from the bag, tore off the plastic wrap, and passed it over to her with the marker. 

“Tired,” she wrote. 

“Nap?” 

“Not that kind of tired.” 

With an understanding nod, Wrench went back to the book he’d been flipping through, a dull paperback they’d found on the counter in the motel room’s toilet, a book that appeared to be the sixth or seventh book in a crime series and something that would put Nikki to sleep. Thoughtfully, she pressed the marker against her lips before writing something down. She waved a hand to divert Wrench’s attention from the book. 

“Can I ask a ???”

He nodded, and she erased the writing with the heel of her hand before jotting down something else. 

“Why were you on the bus?” 

For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse to tell her. Then he put the book down and took up his board, writing something longer than she’d anticipated.

He finally held it up. “Killed people.” 

“How many people?” she wrote. 

“Lots. My job.” 

“You’re a hitman?” 

He nodded. She gave him a look of disbelief, which only made him nod more firmly, as if insulted that she didn’t believe him. 

“You still a hitman?” 

“No.” 

“When did you stop?” 

“Partner died.” 

She’d been getting ready to write her reply, taking the cap off the pen again, but when she read those two words, her face fell. “Oh,” she said out loud. Then she wrote:

“Sorry.” 

He looked so broken up at that moment, she erased the apology and wrote something else. 

“Partner = $ or partner = ♥?” 

The sigh he heaved was so deep she knew the answer already, though she still wanted to see him say it. He held the marker in his hand for a long moment before finally jotting something down. 

“Both.” 

Her eyebrows arched higher, knowingly but not judgingly. “Work romance,” she wrote. “Preaching to the choir.” 

Wrench shook his head and wrote something else down. As he held it up to her, she read, “We knew each other before work. They took us at the same time.” 

“Took?” she wrote back. 

He didn’t really reply, just underlined ‘took’. Nikki figured it was an issue she didn’t want to press, so she went down a different road. 

“What happened to him?” 

It had been nearly five years since that policewoman had told him Numbers was dead, five years since Lorne Malvo had freed him, taunted him. Four years since Wrench had tried to hunt him down, only to find that he was already dead, that Gus Grimly had gotten there before him. He was happy Malvo was dead, but bitter it hadn’t been him. But how to write all that down on this tiny piece of white board? 

He shook his head, looking around the room. Rising from the bed, he opened the desk drawer and found the phonebook, the front cover already torn off for their communication purposes. He ripped off the back cover now, the underside of which was nothing but stiff, white paper, and sat down to write. Nikki drew her knees to her chest as she watched him write, then stop, fist tightening, face drawn, before continuing. It took him nearly ten minutes to write the entire story, marveling at how much he trusted her after only a few weeks of being friends, but there was something about being in a prison bus crash, being stalked through the woods, getting arrows in your extremities, and beheading a man that made two people grow close in a short period of time. 

When Wrench finally handed her the paper, it was filled with his scrawl, and she leaned back against the headboard to read it as he left for the bathroom, running his hands under the cold water and splashing some on his face. When he returned, she was tearing the paper into unreadable pieces, looking about as happy as he felt. 

Looking up at him, Nikki was silent. She wanted to say she was sorry, wanted to say she knew exactly how he felt, that Ray had been the same for her, but she knew it really wasn’t the same, ever. So when he went to sit on his bed again, sighing, she got up and went to sit next to him, letting her head tip onto his shoulder. Both of them were alone, and neither of them were, and there was grief and emptiness and relief and gratitude all at once. 

She took his white board and pen, resting it between their legs as she wrote, “Actually, I am that kind of tired.” 

Wrench gave her a nod, and she got up to go climb into her own bed, and he undressed to get into his. The Walmart bag went in the trash along with the plastic wrap from the two boards, and the receipt was stuffed in Nikki’s coat pocket to avoid leaving any personal evidence, although it was hardly against the law for a person to buy two dry erase boards. 

When she reached out to turn off the lamp between the beds, she offered Wrench a small, sad smile, which, surprisingly enough, he returned. Somewhat comforted, they watched the light go out and went to sleep.


End file.
